Getting Too Close
by MidnightUnderMoonlight
Summary: It's happening again. Lindsay Monroe's just getting too close to everything. The case . . . the killer . . . her partner . . . DL .
1. Chapter 1

Getting Too Close

**Chapter 1**

"Danny, if God were a woman, you'd be going straight to Hell."

Hawkes chuckled goodheartedly whereas Flack suppressed a smile.

Danny Messer looked up from his microscope at the brown haired beauty that said that and ran a hand through his own brown lochs, sighing with odd satisfaction. He'd gotten to her again. What was this? The 79th time? 116th? Who even knew anymore? Lindsay Monroe was a tough shell to crack, but once the first little chip was broken, there was nothing that could stop her from falling apart.

The Staten Island bred CSI returned his attention back to his microscope and smirked. "Trust me, Montana. If God were a woman, nothing would stop Her from wanting me in Heaven."

Lindsay tossed an aggravated look at Danny. They were supposed to be processing evidence, but it was very clear they weren't going to get much done.

It was at that second Mac walked in.

"Lindsay. Danny. Flack," he addressed them, and then turned to look at Hawkes. "We've got another case. A bartender was found dead in Central Park. Stella's already there."

Hawkes nodded his head in understanding. "That means I'll be there, too."

He left the lab without another word. Mac watched Hawkes leave out the door before refocusing his concentration on Lindsay and Danny.

"How's the case going? Did you find anything new?"

Lindsay shook her head in disappointment. "Nothing. The evidence is going in circles. Just when we think we've found a break in the case, it ends up being useless and we're back at square one. Whoever this killer is, they certainly knew how to clean up."

The mood of the room quickly changed from light and airy to solemn and frustrated.

"I interrogated the brother," Flack inputted. "But he's not giving in easily."

Mac frowned. "What did he have to say?"

Flack crossed his arms and leaned against the lab table. "Nothing new. His story coincides with the parents'."

Danny took off his glasses to wipe them clean. "So either he's a really good liar or he really had nothing to do with his brother's death."

Lindsay slammed her hand on the counter, aggravated. "We're getting nowhere."

Danny glanced at his partner, concern etched across his face. Lindsay was getting too emotionally attached to the case. Both were assigned to the death of five year old Jake Price. His body was found in a dumpster by local sanitary officials. They'd spent nearly a week going through all the evidence, but everything checked out. The sight of a dead child, brutally slashed and cut . . . it was something no one should have to see.

Mac eyed Lindsay critically before he turned to look at Flack. "Do we still have the brother in custody?"

Flack nodded. "For now. But we'll have to let him go within the next hour. There's no solid piece of evidence that we can use to keep him here longer."

Their boss threw a cautionary glance at Lindsay and Danny. "Why don't you two have a crack at him?" he suggested.

Arching an eyebrow in response, Danny looked over at Lindsay. "You up for it, Montana?"

Lindsay immediately snapped of her latex gloves. "Yeah," she said determinedly. "Let's go."

She hung up her lab coat and glanced at her reflection in the glass window to fix her hair and make-up – or lack there of. Three pairs of eyes looked at her curiously.

"Uh . . . Lindsay?"

The CSI turned around at her name being called. "Yeah?"

Flack scrunched his eyebrows in confusion waved a hand at her compact. "What are you doing?"

Lindsay glanced down her foundation, and then back up again. "I want to look intimidating," she stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

All three men exchanged a look. "Ah."

They simultaneously decided that it was better to just accept and not question.

As soon as Lindsay finished, Flack led her and Danny to the interrogation room. He opened the door for them and wished them luck. "You'll need it."

Upon entering the room, Lindsay could tell right off Flack was right. The brother looked no older than twenty-one and had an aura about him that screamed buoyancy and confidence. This was not going to be easy. She quickly seated herself next to Danny. The sooner they got this over with, the better.

Danny started things off

"Bryan Price," Danny read from his file. "Age: nineteen. Currently attending New York University with a part time job in a bike repair shop. Is majoring in criminal law. Does volunteer work at an orphanage. Holds not a _single_ criminal charge."

Danny leaned back into his chair, folded his hands on the smooth, metal table, and observed the suspected perpetrator coolly. "I'm impressed, man. You've never even gotten a ticket."

"This is New York," the suspect sneered. "My cab driver would be at the receiving end of a ticket. Not me."

Lindsay flashed an almost daunted look at Bryan. The kid was fast.

"So Bryan," she said conversationally. "Majoring in criminal law. That's rather ironic, isn't it?"

Bryan crossed his arms. "You can cut the friendly chat. In fact, you can cut the whole interrogation. I know you guys don't have anything on me, so there's no reason to keep me here. Law says so."

Danny and Lindsay swapped looks of disbelief. Barely two minutes into the cross-examination and Lindsay already didn't like the guy.

"You're little brother is dead, Price," Danny snarled. "That's all the reason we need to keep you here."

"On what grounds?" Bryan countered, snickering. "Where's your evidence, Detective?"

Danny's eyes flashed a dangerously.

Lindsay nearly toppled her chair when she shot up from her seat. "Your brother is dead, Bryan. _Dead_. As in murdered," she fumed. "The normal reaction wouldn't be indifference. The normal reaction would be concern and distraught. If you really were innocent, you'd be willing to spend every moment in here to help solve this case, even if you were accused. You wouldn't be trying to snake your way out on a technicality."

Danny tugged on her arm and tried to get her to sit down.

Bryan looked amusedly at Lindsay. "You're being bias. Those aren't normal reactions. Those are common reactions. I deal with grief my own way."

"You– " but the Montana CSI was cut off.

"All right," Danny said, tossing a warning glance at his fellow interrogator and doing the same to Bryan. "If you'll excuse us for a moment, Mr. Price."

And he hastily dragged Lindsay out of the room.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Lindsay demanded, once they were out.

"Me?" Danny cried incredulously. "What the hell do you think _you're_ doing?"

Lindsay blinked back unanticipated tears. She looked down the hallway and tried to calm down her labored breathing. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

"We weren't even in there for five minutes, Montana!" he reprimanded. "And already the suspect's got you riled up. You just proved to the guy that he's winning."

She licked her lips and gazed through the window of the interrogation room, avoiding Danny's face.

"_You can't do this_," he continued. "You're getting to close to the case. If you keep this up, I'll have no choice but to tell Mac."

Lindsay was in shock and just about burst out laughing. "You're going to tell on me?"

Danny took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Yeah, I know it's out of character for me. I also know how much you care about this kid. And I know you want to bring the killer to justice. That's all the more reason we have to do this by the book. So if that means pulling you off the case, then I'll do it. Don't think I won't. You want to catch whoever did this? Convict the guy with your head, Montana. Not your heart."

Chastised, Lindsay bit her lip and looked at Danny desperately.

He stared back unwavering.

'_Damn it_,' she thought.

He was right. She knew he was right. That didn't mean she was going to admit it, though. But she had to give him credit. He'd come a long way from the brash, irrational, and overemotional Danny she'd once known. Not that he was always calm; he still got heated every now and then. And when he did . . . well, she wasn't going to go into detail about that.

Lindsay locked eyes with him. "You learned that from Mac, didn't you?"

It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement.

Flack chose that moment to pop up out of nowhere. He walked up to them, a slight expression of puzzlement upon his face.

"Hey," he greeted. "You two done already?"

Danny glimpsed in Lindsay's direction, who was currently evading both men's eyes.

"Yeah," Danny answered disappointedly. "We're done."

Flack nodded in understanding. "Guess I'll tell 'brother dear' he can go home."

Lindsay waited until the door of the interrogation room closed completely before she spoke up.

"I just want to know why this happened," she said. "Jake Price was only five years old. How could anyone take away a life that hadn't even started yet?"

Danny exhaled noisily and rested his head against the wall. "That's like wanting to know the meaning of life. Chances are, you're never going to know until it's all over. And that's if you're lucky."

The door to the interrogation room opened, and Bryan Price treaded out with Flack and another officer escorting him. Bryan's cold, electric blue eyes locked with Lindsay's. A sudden chill went up and down her spine. She took a hesitant step back, and would have gone further if her backside had not made contact with the wall that was neglectfully there. Danny noticed this disturbing interaction and decided to divert the guy's attention.

"Don't leave town anytime soon, Price," he advised.

Bryan broke his stare down with Lindsay and gave a fleeting look of apathy to Danny before smirking at Lindsay. The instant they were out of earshot, Danny rounded on Lindsay.

"You okay?" he asked.

Lindsay nodded her head mechanically. "I'm good."

She looked anything but.

(A/N): Okay. So how was it? I know I started things off really fast, but I'll get into deeper details about the case when I write more. I just thought it'd be a nice change to have readers almost seem like they were walking in on the case. Tell me if it creates that effect or not.


	2. Chapter 2

Getting Too Close

Chapter 2

_One week earlier . . ._

A loud, shrilling noise cut through the silent darkness. Lindsay Monroe emitted a loud groan and reached over her nightstand, searching blindly for her cell phone. Another piercing _'ring'_ went through the air, instigating Lindsay to be more desperate in her search. Her fingers finally encircled around a thin, cool object. Lindsay glanced at the caller ID. _Mac Taylor._ Lindsay sighed. Of course it was her boss; who else could it have been?

Lindsay flipped her phone open. "Yeah, Mac?"

"Lindsay? Sorry to be calling so early."

The young brunette rubbed her eyes as she tried to suppress a yawn. "No problem. So what's the problem?"

"A five year old's body was found in a dumpster near Central Park. Danny and Flack are already at the scene. I need you there, too."

Lindsay nodded, and almost smacked herself for doing so. It wasn't like Mac could actually see her through the phone. "Sure thing," she said.

Mac gave her the address and Lindsay quickly showered and got dressed. She took a quick glimpse at her watch. It was four in the morning.

'_A CSI's work is never done,'_ she reflected.

Upon arriving at the crime scene, Lindsay suddenly felt unsure. Something in her gut told her this case was not going to be simple and trouble-free. A few NYPD patrol cars, with their light sirens still blaring, were parked on the street. Lindsay promptly parked her own behind what she recognized to be Danny's SUV.

Lindsay made her way through the crowd of goaded cops and fervent reporters. Danny was taking photos while Flack was talking to two local sanitary officials.

"Hey," she greeted Danny.

He snapped a few more shots before greeting her. "Morning, Montana."

Lindsay rolled her eyes at the nickname. "Quite a wake up call, huh?" she said, settling down her kit.

Danny walked slowly around to the other side of the dumpster and smiled at her. "Not a morning person, are we?"

"Not since I left Montana," Lindsay replied, shaking her head. "So, what have we got?"

"Five year old male," Flack answered for Danny. He walked over to the two CSIs, flipping through his notes. "Found a little under an hour ago by a couple of garbage men. They said they were coming by to pick up the trash when they saw an arm sticking out of a Hefty plastic bag. Called 911 immediately after that. They're both a little disturbed by the sight."

Lindsay nodded absentmindedly as she slipped on her latex gloves. Turning on her flashlight, she walked to the edge of the dumpster. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight she saw. Lying in a mangled mess was the body of a child – slashed and cut. Dark, red blood seeped from the open wounds and dripped onto the surrounding garbage. His sun-kissed blonde hair was crusty with blood, and his skin was white and pasty. Lindsay inaudibly gasped. There was just so much blood.

"You all right, Monroe?"

Blinking away her shock, Lindsay turned around and gave a half smile to Danny. "I'm fine," she replied. "Did we determine the cause of death?"

Danny shook his head. "I think it's pretty obvious, but you never know. We'll have to confirm it with Sid."

Lindsay carefully pushed back some of the garbage in the dumpster to get a closer inspection of the victim. "What about the time of death?"

"Judging by how fresh the gashes are, I'd say maybe two or three hours," Danny said, walking off to take more pictures.

He snapped another shot in the corner of the alley. "Hey," he called to Lindsay. "I found some traces of blood here."

Lindsay nodded as she maneuvered her flashlight around the dumpster. She couldn't help but shiver. The little guy was still wearing his pajamas. He was dragged out of his sleep in the middle of the night and killed. Lindsay frowned. Who would do such a thing? Who _could_ do such a thing?

"Coroner is here," Flack announced. "We need to bring him back to the lab to process his body. The two of you done with everything?"

"Yeah," Lindsay said. Whoever this killer was, he was good. There were no signs of any identifiable prints.

Back at the lab, Lindsay couldn't concentrate. Danny had found some threads at the scene, but it matched the tear in Jake Price's pajamas – it didn't belong to the killer. The blood he'd discovered splattered against the wall of the dumpster matched Jake's, also. Those two facts only confirmed a struggle may have taken place, but it said nothing about who it was Jake Price had struggled against.

Lindsay lifted her head from the microscope and rubbed her temples. Three whole days on the case and there was nothing new. No breaking evidence. Not even a murder weapon. The parents had been informed, questioned, and interrogated individually, but still nothing. Lindsay couldn't get the sight of the weeping mother out of her head. She was so devastated; she'd collapsed immediately after being told, right into her husband's arms. Lindsay hated that part of her job.

A loud knock on the door snapped Lindsay out of her trance. She looked up into a pair of concerned eyes.

"Are you all right, Lindsay?" Stella asked. She was holding a file in her hand.

Lindsay almost groaned. That question had been circulating around her a lot lately.

"I'm fine," she answered for the millionth time. "Is that the result of the stains from our vic's pajamas?"

Stella placed the folder on the lab table for Lindsay. "Yes it is, and you're guess was right. It was chloroform."

Lindsay opened the report and glanced at it quickly. "So the chloroform was on the clothes, which seeped through to the body."

Stella nodded. "But it wasn't anywhere near Jake's nose," she added.

Lindsay grabbed another folder containing Jake's profile. "However, it was close enough for Jake to smell it, therefore causing him to become somewhat lightheaded. He was conscious enough to know what was going on, but not conscious enough to fight back. Or at least, fight back strongly. He struggled, but not enough to save his life," she said, reading over the notes on Jake's processed body. "That would explain the hints of sleep induced chemicals found in his nostrils and the state of his brain patterns from Sid's x-ray."

The tired CSI slapped the file on the lab table, irritated. This stuff was important, but it only reinforced what happened. It said nothing about who made it happen.

Stella reached out a hand and patted Lindsay's lighted. "Keep your chin up, Lindsay," she consoled. "Everyone on the team is working this case. We'll catch this guy."

Lindsay smiled jadedly.

Another knock sounded at the door, causing both women to look up.

Danny smiled sheepishly. "Am I interrupting something?"

Stella shook her head. "Only a little girl talk," she said, and then returned her attention to Lindsay. "Just keep doing what your doing. Keep processing. And have a little faith. That goes a long way. I'm going to check on Adam and see if he's found anything in the garbage of our dump site."

With that, she left.

Danny watched Stella's retreating form before questioning Lindsay. "Girl talk, huh?"

Lindsay quirked the corner of her lip slightly. "Nothing you would want to know."

Danny studied Lindsay for a moment before he changed the topic. "So, I heard it was chloroform."

Lindsay sighed. "Yeah. Chloroform."

"So what about the thread I found?" he asked hopefully.

"It belonged to Jake Price," Lindsay answered.

Danny heard the disappointment in her voice, and nudged her gently with his shoulder. "Something will come up, Monroe. Keep hope alive."

Lindsay shut her eyes and tried to block out all her rage and aggravation. Something will come up. They'll get a break in the case. They had to. For Jake's sake.

_Back to the present . . . _

They couldn't get a warrant to search the parent's home or the brother's dorm. Every single one of them tried to find a loophole, but it all pointed to one problem: lack of strong evidence. Everyone was at his or her wits ends.

Lindsay flipped through the law book for the hundredth time, but there was no luck. New York state law clearly confirmed that without solid proof, a warrant could not be issued.

'_I guess intuition isn't proof enough,'_ Lindsay thought, dejectedly.

Everyone knew that they wouldn't be able to get anywhere if they couldn't search the house. Just one piece of evidence that pointed at either the parents or the brother would be sufficient enough to obtain a warrant, but they didn't have that. And now, the team was short three CSIs. Mac, Stella, and Hawkes were investigating the murder of a bartender.

"Monroe! Hey!"

Lindsay's head snapped up at her name being called.

Danny rushed into the lab and nearly slammed into the lab table in an attempt to keep himself from sliding.

Lindsay arched an eyebrow at her partner's behavior. "Where's the fire?"

"No fire," he replied excitedly. "More like 'where's the evidence?' "

Lindsay blinked. " . . . huh?"

Danny walked hastily around the lab table and grabbed Lindsay's arm, dragging her out of the lab. "Oh man, you – " he paused to point at Lindsay, " – are going to love me. I was finishing up the last pile of trash with Adam, and you are never going to believe what I found."

A sense of optimism began surging through Lindsay. "What?" she asked.

They entered another lab and Danny let go of her arm. He disappeared behind the enormous mound of trash that was in the middle of the room. Needless to say, it smelled worst than it looked. Danny hurried back to Lindsay, who was waiting at the door.

He held up something metal – possibly silver – that looked charred. "What would you say if I told you this was a potential murder weapon?"

Lindsay smiled her first genuine smile in days. "I'd say you were right."

Danny's eyes flickered in confusion. "Right about what?"

Lindsay took the burnt object from Danny and examined it. "I do love you."

They both returned back to their lab to process the item. Danny rubbed and cleaned off the burnt excess. He held it underneath a carefully placed light.

"It's definitely silver," Danny confirmed. "Looks like the rest of it was melted away."

Lindsay leaned over Danny's shoulder to take a look. "It's a handle," she said breathlessly. "The handle to a knife."

Danny licked his lips eagerly. "The knife that may have killed Jake Price."

At that moment, Mac and Stella barged into the room. Danny and Lindsay looked up, surprised.

Lindsay acknowledged them with a smile. "You're not going to believer this. Danny and I may have found the murder weapon that was used to kill Jake Price. We finally have a break in the case."

Mac nodded. "That's good. I do believe it. But there's something else that the two of you are not going to believe."

Danny and Lindsay exchange looks of perplexity. "What are you talking about, Mac?" Danny asked.

"We found blood traces and a fingerprint on our bartender," Stella stated.

"That's . . . good," Lindsay commented, still puzzled.

Stella exhaled noisily. "The blood traces belonged to Jake Price. The finger print matched Jake's father."

Danny and Lindsay looked at each other with incredulity.

"Told you, you wouldn't believe it," Mac noted.

_(A/N)_

_Sooooo, how was it? R&R and let me know!_


	3. Chapter 3

Getting Too Close

Chapter 3

_(A/N): I'm trying to get my italics and bolds to work, but I don't think it's happening. So please, pace yourself when reading this. There are significant breaks in the story. Don't read to quickly, or you'll miss them!_

The bartender's name was Joshua Ford, he was killed with a stab wound to the heart, and he had no affiliation with Jake Price whatsoever. Michael Price, Jake's father, never once stepped foot inside a New York bar. Or at least, that was what he said. So how did his fingerprint end up on Joshua Ford's dead body? Stella considered bringing the father in for another round of Q's and A's, but Mac decided enough was enough. The father's print was at a murder scene. It was time for a search warrant.

Danny and Lindsay were able to recreate the knife in its original state on the computer. It was steak knife – twelve inches long and a quarter of an inch wide. The angle it created when used match the slashes on Jake Price's body exactly. Duplicates of it were sold everywhere. They finally had a murder weapon, and unfortunately, it was one that could have belonged to anyone in the country; or the world, for that matter. Due to the fact that it was burnt beyond recognition, it was clear at once they weren't going to be able to pull any prints off it. Once again, they hit a dead end. All they had to go off on was Jake's blood on Joshua Ford's body. But they had no idea how it ended up there.

"So someone killed the killer," Hawkes said abruptly.

The entire team was gathered in Mac's office, and all were getting extremely anxious. They knew they were on the brink of finding answers. The only thing standing in their way was the connection.

"We haven't established that Joshua Price was the killer," Mac countered forlornly. "Sure, Jake's blood was found underneath Joshua ford's nails, but we have no idea how it even got there in the first place. What if, for some out of this world reason, the bartender was at the wrong place in the wrong time? For all we know, Joshua Ford could have been a witness. Or maybe he was even trying to save the victim."

Danny cracked his knuckles loudly. "He did it, Mac. You know he did. I know he did," he said.

Lindsay looked distraughtly at Danny. "We all know he did it, Danny," she murmured.

Stella tossed a sympathetic glance at Lindsay. "We need to find out how Jake Price's blood got on Joshua Ford. Then we need to find out how Michael Price's fingerprint got on Joshua Ford's wallet."

"Hence, the warrant," Flack said. He took out a pile of folded papers from his pocket and handed them to Mac.

Lindsay stared at the stack of papers currently in Mac's hands. "Was the fingerprint proof enough for a warrant on the brother's dorm, too?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah," Flack answered happily. "It was more than enough. Jake's blood on Joshua Ford also gave us a warrant to search _his_ house."

Mac nodded. "All right. Stella, you and Hawkes have Joshua Ford's place," he directed. "Flack, you're with me and the parents' home. Lindsay and Danny, you two handle the brother's dorm."

He handed each pair their search warrants. "Let's find that connection."

At Joshua Ford's home . . .

Stella walked up the steps to the bartender's house, Hawkes right beside her.

"For a bartender, the guy sure has a nice house," Hawkes commented.

Stella smiled and rung the doorbell. "More like a nice mansion," she amended.

A woman in her thirties with blonde hair and brown eyes opened the door. She eyed them suspiciously. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Detective Stella Bonasera and this is Dr. Sheldon Hawkes. We're with the crime lab. I believe you've already spoken with my partner, Detective Mac Taylor?"

Recognition flooded through the woman's face. "Come in, please. Is there something you needed? Did you find out who killed my husband?"

Stella walked in, followed by Hawkes. "Not yet," Hawkes answered. "But we believe it may have been an act of revenge."

Mrs. Ford looked between Stella and Hawkes in confusion. "What?"

Stella took out the search warrant. "The blood of another murder victim was found on Joshua Ford's body. Your dead husband is now the primary suspect of a murder. We'll need to process your house, Mrs. Ford."

At Mr. And Mrs. Price home . . .

Flack knocked on the oak door of the Prices home. No one answered. He and Mac exchanged a look of vexation. Mac took a try and knocked on the door, harder and louder.

"This is NYPD. Open up!" he demanded.

A series of clicking noises followed and the door finally opened. Mrs. Price stood before the two detectives, looking tired and worn out. "Yes?" she said meekly.

Mac's gaze was cold and firm. "We have a warrant to search your house, Mrs. Price," he informed. "Evidence points to your husband being connected to your son's death as well as the death of a local bartender.'

Mrs. Price paled. "W-what? That can't be."

"We'll see, then, won't we?" Flack remarked. "Where's your husband?"

"He's at work," she replied.

"That's too bad," Mac said, snapping on his latex gloves. "Now, if you'll step aside, Mrs. Price. We need to prove your husband's guilt."

At Bryan Price's dorm . . .

Lindsay stepped out of Danny's SUV and slammed the door. Squaring her shoulders, she headed towards NYU's dorms. Danny cocked an eyebrow at her conduct, looked at his slammed door, then back at her.

"What's his room number, again?" she asked her partner.

Danny, who was trying to keep up with her faster than usual pace, fumbled a hand through his coat pocket and fished out a scrap of paper. "He's in Building C, room number 112. He's on the second floor."

Lindsay nodded in response. She had been feeling rather restless during the car ride. She knew that the search warrant was the break they needed. Something told her they were getting close. To what exactly, she didn't know. But they were close, and that was all that mattered.

After what seemed like an eternity, the two finally reached their destination.

"Do you think he's in there?" Lindsay mused.

Danny glanced at her with both eyebrows raised. "Let's find out," he said, and knocked brutally on the door.

A few seconds passed, and no one answered.

Lindsay frowned and tried knocking on the door herself. Again, silence ensued.

"He's probably in class," Danny reasoned.

Lindsay crossed her arms and glared at the door. "Now what?"

Danny grinned. "We go in anyway," he replied.

He set down his kit and peered at the doorknob, examining the lock. Lindsay stepped aside to see what it was exactly Danny had in mind to get them in. He opened up his kit and took out a small exacto-knife. Slipping on a pair of latex gloves, he carefully jammed the knife into the lock and started rattling it around.

"Maybe we should go to the administrative office," Lindsay suggested. "I'm sure they've got a spare key."

Danny stopped what he was doing and looked at her. "Search warrant states that we can't investigate someone's home if the owner's not in the same room with us," he said, and turned his attention back to the doorknob. "I don't think it's a good idea to let the administrators know NYPD is breaking protocol. We'd be kicked off the case. Maybe even fired. I don't know about you, but I kind of like having a job. Pays the rent, you know."

Lindsay stood gaping at Danny. "Oh," she said. "Right."

And that was all about she could say.

"Not to mention," Danny continued. "Mac would probably kill us if he found out."

Lindsay deadpanned. "I get the point, Messer."

Danny chuckled. After a few more tries with his knife, a soft 'click' resounded. He smirked in triumph at Lindsay and tossed the knife back into his kit.

He turned the knob and opened the door for Lindsay. "After you, Miss Monroe," he said with a grin.

Lindsay rolled her eyes. "Should I be worried that you just broke into someone's home?" she asked, walking in.

"Nah," Danny said, following her in. "It's only bad if you get caught."

They stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by clothes, books, trashy posters, and the average college filth.

Danny rubbed his hands together and took out his flashlight. "Now lets get a processing."

Back at Joshua Ford's home . . .

"This can't be happening," Mrs. Ford said distraughtly. "He wouldn't do something like this. My husband was a good man. He wouldn't kill anyone."

She was pacing back and forth in the master bedroom, ranting and raving.

Hawkes and Stella exchanged looks of weariness as they were processing the four-poster bed.

"Just looking at her is making me exhausted," Hawkes muttered to Stella.

The detective smiled. "I'm going to look in the closet," she told him.

"Closet?" Hawkes inquired.

Stella arched an eyebrow at the doctor. "Yeah," she said, pointing to two sliding doors in the corner. "It's right over there."

Hawkes eyes widened a fraction. "I thought that was another bedroom."

Stella laughed quietly. She walked over to the pair of doors and cautiously opened them. Hawkes was right. It looked like another room all in its own. There were several drawers and clothes hung neatly on hangers lined half the room. The place was bigger than most bathrooms.

Turning on her flashlight, she began searching through the drawers for anything out of place. After a while, she made her way to the different articles of clothing hanging on the walls. A sudden, faint odor began filling her nose. Stella blinked in surprise. It smelled extremely familiar. She started probing frantically through every piece of garment on a hanger, sniffing each one thoroughly. Each piece of clothing that didn't possess a scent only made the odor she was looking for stronger. A light wave of nausea hit her, causing her to become slightly lightheaded. She held up a black dress shirt that was placed in the very back and inhaled it softly. The same queasiness filled her head, this time more overwhelmingly. Stella shook her head roughly to clear her mind of the nausea. She set the shirt back on the hanger and shined her flashlight on it. Obvious stains of some form of fluid that had dried off were splattered indiscriminately everywhere.

Stella clicked off her flashlight and merely stared at the shirt. "Chloroform . . ."

Back at Mr. And Mrs. Price's home . . .

Mac rummaged through the every single drawer of Jake's bedroom and found nothing. He sat down on the bed, his forehead creased in frustration.

"Flack," he called. "You find anything?"

Flack poked his head from the bathroom. "Sorry, Mac. Nothing yet."

Mac sighed and rubbed his eyes despairingly. It was then that he noticed a piece of paper folded next to the foot of the bed out of the corner of his eye. He got down on his hands and knees and picked up the small parchment carefully and found it to be a business card.

'Sullivan's Bar'. That was the bar Joshua Ford tended. Mac flipped the card over and found Mr. And Mrs. Price's addressed scrawled on the back, along with directions on how to get from the bar to the house. In the top right corner, there was a series of numbers and beneath the numbers it read: '2 am'. That was around the time Jake Price was killed. Mac turned the card back over and stared at it. He remembered Mr. Price distinctly saying that he never went to bars. So what was the business card of a dead bartender doing in his son's room?

"Looks like somebody's a liar," Mac muttered to himself.

"Hey, Mac!" Flack came out of the bathroom with a stack of wrinkled papers. "You are not going to believe what I found taped to the back of the toilet."

Mac looked at the papers in Flack's hand. "What?"

Flack opened the papers and presented them to Mac. "Insurance documents," he said.

Mac looked at him with disbelief. "In the bathroom?"

Flack held up his hands in mock defense. "Hey, I sometimes use my desk bureau at home as a sock drawer," he rationalized.

Mac stared at Flack expectedly, waiting for him to continue. Flack smiled awkwardly.

"They're not just insurance papers," Flack sustained. "They're life insurance papers – Jake Price's life insurance. Apparently, the five year old was worth about 1.5 million. That's a pretty good reason to have the kid killed, don't you think?"

Mac looked through the insurance documents and stopped when he saw the value. "I think," he sighed, "we just found a motive."

Back at Bryan Price's dorm . . .

"Are all teenage boys this messy?" Lindsay wondered out loud as she poked around the piles of clothes in the middle of the room.

Danny stopped going through Bryan Price's desk and looked at Lindsay skeptically.

"Never mind," she said.

"I'm going to check out the bathroom," Danny let Lindsay know.

She nodded and continued looking through the heaps of dirty, unwashed clothes. At that moment, a boy with dyed blue hair, numerous body piercings and dark eyes walked in. He froze when he saw Lindsay.

"Uh . . . what's going on? What are you doing in here? Who are you?"

Lindsay stopped examining a rumpled checkered shirt and looked up, surprised.

She tossed the shirt back into the pile. "NYPD," she responded, flashing him her badge. "We're with the crime lab."

The kid's eyes expanded. "Crime lab?" he repeated nervously. "Look, whatever it was, I didn't do it."

"Now how do we know that for sure?" Danny asked teasingly, walking out of the bathroom.

Lindsay suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "I take it you're Bryan Price's roommate?" she questioned him.

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm Thomas Hendricks."

Danny looked Thomas Hendricks up and down. "Nice earrings, man," he commented, before turning his attention on to Lindsay. "I found a knife hiding in the toilet. Couldn't get any prints off it. But, it tested positive for blood."

He took out a plastic bag with a silver dinner knife and smiled charmingly at his partner. "I think this is what we call 'a break in the case'."

Lindsay beamed.

Thomas cleared his throat. "Um . . . e-excuse me? I-I don't mean to question you or anything and, well, I don't know much about law and stuff, but . . . isn't it kind of illegal to search a place without its owner present?"

Lindsay's smile faltered and she glanced uncertainly at Danny.

'This can't be good,' Lindsay thought forlornly.

"This can't be good," Danny garbled incoherently to her.

Lindsay tossed a distressed glance at him.

How were they going to get out of this?

(A/N)

All right, some of you have been asking for some DL, and no worries, okay? It's coming. I'm just following in the style of the show (and that means it'll be a little slow). If you read closely, I've had a few indications here and there. There are definitely loads of interaction between the two – you can't deny that. Just be patient.

Okay, I know all the new characters are getting somewhat confusing, so I thought I'd help clear some things:

Jake Price: five years old; brutally slashed and killed; his body was dumped in a dumpster near central park; chloroform was found splattered all over his clothes, suggesting a struggle; traces of his blood were found on Joshua Ford (the bartender found murdered in Central Park); his older brother is Bryan Price

Bryan Price: Jake Price's older brother; NYU student; is majoring in Criminal Law; sharp and aggressive; the CSI team (particularly Lindsay) suspect him of being connected to his brother's murder somehow

Joshua Ford: a local bartender found murdered in Central Park; worked in Sullivan's Bar; traces of Jake Price's blood was found splattered underneath his nails; Michael (Jake and Bryan's father) Price's fingerprint was found on his wallet; his business card is found in Jake Price's room; he's currently the primary suspect in Jake Price's murder

Michael Price: Jake and Bryan's father; his fingerprint was found on Joshua Ford's wallet at the murder scene; he's currently connected to Joshua Ford's murder as well as his son's

Thomas Hendricks: Bryan Price's roommate at NYU


	4. Chapter 4

**Getting Too Close**

**Chapter 4**

_**(A/N): OK. This is a continuation of the previous chapter. If you've forgotten what happened, then I suggest you re-read it. It may help. Here's hoping my italics and bolds work this time! (Crosses fingers hopefully)**_

_Back at Joshua Ford's home . . ._

Hawkes wafted the scent on the dress shirt towards his nostrils, cringing slightly at the stench it emitted.

He sighed, and handed the shirt back to Stella. "It's chloroform, all right."

Stella took the top and carefully placed it inside a plastic bag. "If the blood wasn't proof enough, then this officially puts Joshua Ford at Jake Price's murder."

Both she and Hawkes were packing up their kits and heading towards her SUV, having just finished processing the house.

Hawkes smiled. "We still need the connection between them, though," he reminded Stella. "And I think my evidence is better than yours."

She eyed him; amused. "Really? What did you find?"

He grinned excitedly. "A burnt trash can," he said.

Stella arched an eyebrow. "A burnt trash can?" she repeated skeptically, as she placed her kit into their CSI SUV.

Hawkes took out a small, blue wastebasket placed deeply inside the trunk of the SUV. "A burnt trash can," he confirmed. "While you were sniffing for chloroform in the closet, I went looking through the rest of the place. Found it in the hallway closet. You'd think with such a big house, Ford would find a better hiding spot."

He pulled off the plastic that he'd wrapped securely around it, and tilted its mouth towards Stella. "It's completely black and burnt on the inside," he said, and then pointed at the base of the basket. "And there's an obvious imprint right here. My guess is it was the knife. If we go back to the lab, I'll bet this impression matches the knife Danny and Lindsay found."

Stella nodded, crossing her arms. "Well, I guess you did find the more interesting evidence."

Hawkes chuckled, placing the wrapped trashcan deftly back in its place.

He took off his gloves, and threw them in his kit. "Let's call it even," he said.

Stella laughed.

_Back at Mr. And Mrs. Prices home . . ._

Mac browsed through the databases with his laptop for the fifth time. Flack stood behind him, eyes also skimming over the facts and numbers.

Mac frowned. "Nothing," he sighed. "Looks like the family didn't cash in on their son's life insurance."

"Yeah, maybe," Flack said wistfully. "Or maybe they just didn't get a chance to."

He turned to look at his boss. "So what's our next step?"

Mac closed his laptop in defeat. "We work off that business card I found. And we have Mr. and Mrs. Price come back in for interrogation. They've got some explaining to do."

_Back at Bryan Prices dorm . . ._

"I think we're the ones that should be doing the questioning," Danny said. "Like, what's with this knife hiding in your toilet?"

Lindsay knew exactly what Danny was trying to do. He was diverting the kid's attention. Danny was turning the heat onto him. Thomas Hendricks looked flabbergasted. She stepped away from Danny to stand near the door, letting Danny do what he did best: getting himself out of trouble. She almost felt sorry for Thomas. Almost.

"Well, Thomas?" she goaded him. "Anything you want to tell us?"

He held up his hands and looked between the two detectives, frightened and confused. "Look, I have no idea how that got there," he tried to explain. "I don't even like knives. I'm not one for sharp objects."

When he'd said that, Lindsay couldn't help but stare at his piercings. "Right," she remarked disbelievingly.

At exactly that moment, Bryan Price came charging in with a load of books in his arms. "What are you doing just standing there with the door open, man?" he questioned his roommate.

Then he noticed Lindsay standing on his right, and he swiveled around to find Danny. "What's going on?" he demanded. "What are you doing here?"

He gave Danny a fixed stare, and was about to make another remark when he noticed the plastic bag in Danny's hand – the plastic bag containing a knife. His eyes broadened, and his nostrils flared. He looked at Danny, looked at the knife again, and then back at Danny. Lindsay grew worried at Bryan's behavior. Something wasn't right. Danny noticed Bryan's reaction to the knife as well.

"You –" but that was a far as Danny was able to get before Bryan dropped all the books he was carrying and made a bolt for the door.

Luckily, Lindsay's reflexes were fast, and she was able to block the doorway before Bryan could escape. But it wasn't enough. Bryan's electric blue eyes looked straight into Lindsay's brown ones, and she knew right then and there he was scared. Scared, but determined.

He grabbed Lindsay's right shoulder fiercely, aggressively placed his other hand on her abdomen, and threw her out of the way. Lindsay, taken completely by surprise, let out a small gasp before her head made contact with the wall on the opposite side. Her head hit the dry wall violently and painfully. She could hear Danny shouting, but she couldn't make out what he was saying. The impact against her head was unexpectedly more powerful than she'd thought.

An arm suddenly snaked itself around her waist as the other cupped her chin. She glanced at the arm, instantly recognizing the dark gray blazer. Looking up, she made out about four to five pairs of comforting, concerned blue eyes.

"Lindsay . . . okay . . .?" Danny asked, alarmed.

Lindsay blinked back the tears welling up in her eyes and rubbed the back of her head, endeavoring to make out what he'd said. He sounded like a broken record to her.

"I-I'm okay," her voice cracked. "Where's . . . where did – did he run off?"

Danny took out his cell phone. " . . . need back up . . . officer assaulted . . . possible suspect on the run . . . NYU . . ."

Once again, Lindsay was having difficulties comprehending what Danny was saying. But from what she could understand from the phone call, she knew Danny needed to go after Bryan.

"Danny," she winced at the throbbing pain. "Danny . . . _go_, you need to go after him. Y-you're the only one who saw where he was headed."

Danny looked at her incredulously. "I can't leave you here –"

"_Danny_," she pleaded. "Go. W-while there's still time to catch him. I'll be fine."

He licked his lips uncertainly, torn between running after the perpetrator and taking care of his injured partner. He glanced behind him and noticed Thomas Hendricks, who was still in shock. Danny made up his mind. Standing up from his crouching position next to Lindsay, he grabbed Thomas's forearm and hauled him over.

"Watch her," he ordered. "Make sure she stays awake."

Danny gave another quick look at Lindsay, and then took off in the same direction as Bryan. As soon as Danny was out of sight, she tried to stand, but ended up collapsing back on the carpeted floor when a nasty pain formed below her left ribcage. Lindsay wheezed, her hand clamping the sudden ache on her side. That was when she felt it. Some sort of fluid trickled through her fingers.

She brought up her right hand. It was covered in blood. Her blood.

"Oh god . . . " Thomas said, noticing the red coloring of her hands. "That's not good."

_Stella and Hawkes (coming from Joshua Ford's home) . . ._

They were stuck in a gridlock, as usual, and Hawkes was attempting some CSI jokes.

"Okay. So what do you call a murder suspect who's claustrophobic?"

Traffic wasn't moving at all, and Hawkes figured this was the best way to pass the time.

Stella thought for a moment, then shook her head, smiling at Hawkes's efforts with his corny jokes. "I don't know," she said. "What _do_ you call a murder suspect who's claustrophobic?"

Hawkes opened his mouth to give her the punch line, but was cut off by Stella's phone. She looked at the caller ID. _911: Lindsay_.

Worried, she swiftly flipped her phone opened and answered. "Lindsay? Why'd you 911 me?"

The breathing on the other end was somewhat haggard. "Sorry, Stella. I wasn't sure h-how important this would be. I wanted to tell you to turn on your radio t-transmission,"

Stella waved a hand at Hawkes and gestured him to flip on the radio. He complied, puzzled.

"There's a dispatch out for Bryan Price," Lindsay continued. "H-he's on the run. Danny went after him."

"All right Lindsay, radio's on," Stella said. "Now you need to tell me why you sound so exhausted."

Lindsay laughed uneasily. "Don't worry about me," she assured. "The perp got a little . . .rough."

Stella was about to demand what it was exactly Lindsay meant by 'rough' when the radio crackled.

"NYPD dispatch," came a woman's voice. "We have a possible murder suspect on the run. Assault of an officer was involved. Perpetrator's name is Bryan Price. Age: 19. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Six feet. He was last seen wearing an NYU sweatshirt and jeans. He's believed to be heading north, on Broadway."

Stella and Hawkes froze, staring at the radio. They looked at each other.

"We're on Broadway," Hawkes unnecessarily acknowledged.

"Lindsay, I'll see you back at the lab," Stella said, as she and Hawkes got out of the car.

Stella snapped her phone shut, flashed on the emergency lights of her car, and unfastened her gun from her hip. She and Hawkes headed down Broadway in a dash.

_Mac and Flack (coming from Mr. and Mrs. Price's home) . . . _

Flack was heading out the door when he'd heard the dispatch from his radio.

"NYPD dispatch," the transmission crackled. "We have a possible murder suspect on the run. Assault of an officer was involved. Perpetrator's name is Bryan Price. Age: 19. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Six feet. He was last seen wearing an NYU sweatshirt and jeans. He's believed to be heading north, on Broadway."

He stared at his radio in shock. That was Danny and Lindsay's post. He looked up, searching for Mac.

Mac was placing his kit back into his car when Flack came running up to him.

"Mac!" he called. "We've got a situation."

The head detective grimaced. "Why do I have a feeling that's not a good thing?" he wondered.

Flack stopped short of running into Mac's car. "NYPD dispatch," he clarified. "Bryan Price made a run for it. Assault of an officer was involved, too. I'm thinking it was either Danny or Lindsay. The guy's headed north on Broadway."

Mac shut his car door promptly. "That's not far from here," he said, drawing out his gun. "Let's go."

Flack nodded, getting out his own handgun.

_Danny in pursuit of Bryan Price . . ._

Danny was getting too old for this; he knew he was. About four men in blue were helping him as he ran up Broadway. He'd seen a flash of a purple hoodie and a tuff of blonde hair the minute he ran out of NYU's dorms. He knew instantly it was Bryan.

Broadway was crowded with people, and it was making it very hard for Danny to keep track of Bryan. But if he declared himself, it entailed the risk of telling Bryan of _his_ location. Danny growled, frustrated. If it meant a chance to catch that kid, it was a risk he was willing to take.

Extracting his gun from his side, he made himself loud and lucid. "NYPD!" he yelled, getting a lot of people's attention. "Everybody out of the way!"

The officers following him did the same. Anxious and confused, people effectively ran out of the way, clearing the road for him.

Bryan Price turned around when he heard Danny's assertion. He saw the cleared street and knew immediately that the cops would be able to get to him fast. He manically looked for a way to escape and figured it was best if he kept running forward.

The cleared street gave Danny the perfect view of Bryan, who was about 40 yards ahead of him. He also detected a sense of hesitation on the kid's part when he paused to look around. Danny knew that look. Bryan was going to stop at nothing to escape.

He turned a corner, and Danny muttered a curse under his breath. He hated it when suspects ran and then turned corners. It made it more difficult to catch them. He was already about 45 seconds behind him.

Taking the same left Bryan Price did, Danny ran smack into Mac and Flack.

"Damn it!" Danny barked, stumbling a little from the collision. "Did you see him?"

Mac regained himself. "Must have ran right pass us," he said.

Flack checked his gun, making sure it was still in one piece. "We still have time. We can still catch him."

Danny led the way. "NYPD!" he roared. "C'mon, people. Get out of the way!"

The three made their way down 13th Street until they reached University Place. Crowds of people were everywhere. Danny's, Mac's and Flack's eyes searched frantically for anyone in purple with blonde hair. Masses among swards of brunettes, redheads, blondes, and everything in between horded them. No one was wearing an NYU sweatshirt.

Danny's hand balled into fists as he searched the area with his eyes for a second time, holding out on hope that Bryan Price would just materialize out of nowhere.

"He's gone," Flack said the one thing on all three's minds.

Danny shook his head in disbelief, his breathing hard and labored. "_Damn it!_" he lashed out angrily. "Son of a bitch!"

He paced back and forth meticulously for a moment, and then jerkily kicked a metal trash bin out on the sidewalk.

Flack took out his cell phone and made the call into the station, informing them that the suspect had escaped the pursuit and warning all units to be on high alert.

Mac placed a firm, consoling hand on Danny's shoulder. "We lost him for now, but we'll catch him," he promised. "You need to calm down. You're no help to the case if you let this get to you."

Danny took of his glasses and wiped his eyebrows, aggravated. Mac was right; he knew he was. Danny almost laughed. It was rather ironic. He'd said the same thing to Lindsay before, when she blew up at Bryan in the interrogating room; only he used different words.

He glimpsed at the now dented trashcan he'd just kicked, and noticed something violet sticking out. Quickly putting his glasses back on, he reached a hand inside to pull out the mysterious article. Danny's eyes narrowed suspiciously. It was a sweatshirt – an NYU sweatshirt.

"Mac," he beckoned.

Mac turned around from talking to a couple of police officers and glanced at Danny expectedly.

Danny held up the purple sweatshirt. "I think I know how we lost him."

Mac took the hoodie and examined it with a frown. "It smells like cologne," he said.

A light bulb went off in Danny's head. "I smelled some aftershave when Lindsay and I ran into him at his dorm."

"Hey, guys," Flack motioned. "I just got a call from Stella. She's on her way. She said Bryan Price was last spotted in Union Square Park. I'm guessing he blended into the crowd, then ran for it."

"Yeah," Danny agreed. "I mean, it should be easier for him without his trademark sweatshirt."

Mac returned his attention to the men in blue waiting on him. "All right," he said. "I want all units on _high_ alert. If he's caught, don't take him to any other place by mine's. He's not just a murder suspect, he will be charged with fleeing the scene and assaulting a fellow NYPD. The kid escaped questioning and attacked one of my own CSIs. I want him caught."

The four police officers nodded and radioed in the charges to other units.

Lindsay's assault charge caught Danny's attention. "Did you talk to her?" he asked eagerly. "How's she doing?"

"She'll be fine," came a feminine voice.

Danny, Mac, and Flack looked up at the voice. Stella and Hawkes walked up to them, both looking beaten and tired.

"I talked to her right before I called Flack," she persisted. "No concussion or any form of head trauma. Paramedics got to her in time – before the cut and bleeding could do any serious damage."

"Cut?" Danny inquired fearfully. "What cut? She wasn't bleeding when I left her."

Hawkes flinched, looking at Danny sympathetically. "She got a stab wound below her right ribcage. It was pretty deep, but not deep enough to worry about. She lost a good amount of blood, though."

Stella nodded grimly. "She didn't realize she had the cut until she saw the bleeding. Called for help a little later than she should have."

Danny's eyes flashed treacherously. "How'd she get the wound?" he demanded. "It was Bryan's roommate, wasn't it? The kid's an accomplice."

"Actually, Thomas Hendricks was the one who called the paramedics," Stella said. "Lindsay thinks Bryan may have stabbed her when he was shoving her out of the way."

Mac's frown deepened. "So he not only attacked Lindsay, he stabbed her," he stated almost questioningly.

An eerie silence ensued.

Stella looked her partner curiously. "What are you thinking, Mac?'

Mac gave Danny a significant glance, and then turned to Flack, a stern look encompassing his features. "I want you to send out a dispatch for all units," he told him. "Bryan Price will not only be charged with fleeing the scene and assaulting an officer . . . we're going to nail him with attempted murder."

Danny's hands wringed Bryan's NYU sweatshirt as he watched Flack make the call. Stella put an arm around Danny's shoulders and squeezed them in reassurance.

"Bryan Price is not going to get away," she vowed.

Danny nodded. "No, he's not," he agreed.

_**(A/N)**_

_**I super sized this chapter, as you can tell. I kind of owe it to those of you waiting on this fic, so this is my sorry. Hope you like it so far. Review and let me know!**_


	5. Chapter 5

**Getting Too Close**

**Chapter 5**

Lindsay never liked hospitals. Something about the smell of medicine and slow death was a turn off. That was the thought she had when she woke up to find herself surrounded by a thin white curtain and lying on a small white bed.

The area below her right ribcage stung slightly, but it certainly felt better than it did a few hours ago. Her head still had a small throbbing to it, though. She tried to sit up, but only managed a couple of inches before falling back into the soft, colorless bed. Lindsay moaned, squinting her eyes at the rush of queasiness and pain. She shouldn't have tried getting up. She opened her eyes; only to squeeze them shut again as the room whirled around her. She _really_ shouldn't have tried getting up.

'_At least I was able to call Stella again from the ambulance_,' Lindsay thought jadedly. That was all she'd been able to do before she passed out from the loss of blood.

_**MEANWHILE . . .**_

"NYPD dispatch," sputtered a woman's voice through Flack's transmission. "We have a high alert. Possible murder suspect on the run. Bryan Price. 19 years. Blonde hair. Blue Eyes. Six feet. Last seen wearing jeans. He's charged with fleeing questioning, assaulting an officer, and attempted murder. Repeat. All units need to be on high alert."

Flack turned off his transmission. "The charges are out, Mac," he told his boss. "Every cop from Broadway to the Bronx is on this kid's tail."

Mac nodded grimly. The entire team, save for Lindsay, was gathered in the middle of Union Square Park – the last known location of Bryan Price. Cops were everywhere, questioning any and all possible witnesses who may have seen him running off.

Stella stared at the yellow tapeline surrounding the park, not only signifying that Union Square was currently under investigation, but that no one was allowed to leave until they were thoroughly interrogated. The bright 'Do not cross' sign also signaled a dozen media news reporters of the latest crime story.

The curly haired CSI narrowed her eyes at the sight of the journalists hounding the cops. "Do we want to leak this to the press?" she asked Mac.

Hearing his partner's question, he looked in the direction of her burning gaze. "No," he replied edgily. "Not yet."

"Everyone's got the same story," Flack said, walking up to the pair while flipping through his notepad. "No one noticed a thing."

"Figures," Danny muttered bitterly.

Mac tossed an exasperated look in his direction. "Danny, you go back to the lab and examine that sweater," he instructed.

Danny did a double take. "What?"

"_Go_, Danny."

"Fine," the CSI grudgingly complied, walking off with a plastic bag containing the NYU sweatshirt.

Stella watched him walk away before she returned her attention to the situation at hand.

"A bunch of people walk through Union Park each day. How can no one not notice a thing?" she asked skeptically.

"That's how the story always goes," Mac replied, equally irritated.

"Well," Flack remarked, eyes roaming through the growing crowd of people, "media's going to love this."

"Which is why we're not giving them anything worth two cents of our time," Mac said.

Hawkes walked up to the trio, expression dour and annoyed after he'd just gone through questioning a few potential witnesses. "It's like everyone here went temporarily blind the moment Bryan Price came running through."

Stella threw her head back in exasperation, hands on her hips in a determined fashion. "Back to the lab?" she questioned.

Mac rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Back to the lab," he confirmed. "We won't get much here."

_**CSI:NY CSI:NY CSI:NY**_

Lindsay walked hastily through the crowded hallway of lab technicians and investigators. She was released just two hours ago, and had planned on going home to rest another few hours before returning to work, but she'd happen to be watching the news right before leaving the hospital.

Apparently, somebody had leaked Bryan Price's name to the media. And currently, the crime lab was being harassed by dozens of news reporters, all egging the investigators with questions and demands.

Knife wound or no knife wound, Lindsay knew she had to show up for work. And she didn't care if Mac was going to chastise her.

Much.

'_God, please don't fire me_,' she prayed silently.

She knocked lightly on Mac's office door, and walked in without waiting for his go-ahead.

The entire team was, once again, gathered around his desk. All heads turned to look at Lindsay as she entered.

"Montana, what the hell are you doing here?"

'_Well, that was a nice greeting_,' she thought sardonically.

Ignoring Danny's outrageous outburst, Lindsay walked in. "He got away?" she directed the question at Mac.

Her boss nodded his head solemnly before quickly changing the subject. "Lindsay, you had the day off," he scolded. "You should be resting."

She waved her hand in the air in dismissal. "I'm fine, Mac. Besides, you need me here," she paused. "Especially now since the press knows about it."

Stella sighed. "You really should be in bed . . ."

"I'm _fine_," Lindsay assured.

Flack scoffed. "You're not that great of a liar, Monroe. And trust me, I've seen my fair share of them."

Hawkes smiled.

Lindsay tossed them both a mock glare.

"All right," Mac said. "Back to business."

He looked at Danny. "Did you get anything that might be of use of Bryan Price's sweater?"

Danny shook his head gravely. "Nada," he replied. "Just Price's hair and some aftershave."

"Did you examine the knife you found?"

"The blood's being processed as we speak," Danny brought his wrist up and checked the time on his watch. "Adam should be done right n–"

"Hey, Dan-Man," Adam practically burst through Mac's office in excitement, waving a folder in the air. "I found a match!"

Hawkes' lips twitched. " 'Dan-Man'? What is that? A pet name?"

Danny glowered at Adam before snatching the manila folder from his hands. "Pet name," he mimicked, glaring at Hawkes as well. "Yeah, that's real clever, Doc."

Adam held up his hands defensively and backed out of the room.

Flack chuckled.

Overlooking their banters, Lindsay swiftly filched the folder from Danny's hand and opened it to look at the results.

"Hey!" he protested. "You could have asked, Montana."

"I could have," she agreed, eyes skimming over the data. "Mac . . ."

Mac looked up expectantly.

"The blood on the knife is a match to the Joshua Ford, the bartender."

"Well, I didn't see that one coming," Flack commented.

'_I did_,' Lindsay thought miserably.

"So, the knife was found in Bryan Price's bathroom, when he saw Danny with it, he decided to make a run for it, and now we find out that the knife was used to kill Joshua Ford," Stella recapped.

"But what was this kid's motive for killing the bartender?" Hawkes questioned.

"His little brother," Lindsay blurted.

Everyone looked at her.

"It has to be," Lindsay reasoned distraughtly. "Joshua Ford was found with Jake's blood underneath his fingernails."

The connections were getting more obvious.

"But what motive did Joshua Ford have in killing Jake Price, then?" Hawkes asked again.

Lindsay hated it. He was playing devil's advocate.

"1.5 million dollars," Mac said, peaking everyone's curiousity.

"1.5 million dollars?" Danny asked. "What's 1.5 million dollars?"

"The price of a five year old's life," their boss answered.

Flack took out a pile of papers from inside a plastic baggy. "Jake price's life insurance."

Stella tried to make sense of the situation. "Are you trying to say that someone had Jake Price killed to cash in on his insurance?"

"I'm not trying to say it," Mac said. "I am saying it – Jake Price wasn't just killed, it was a hit. Someone planned this." He placed a small business card covered in plastic wrap on his desk for all to see. "This was found in Jake Price's bedroom. Our killer left behind a breadcrumb for us."

Danny picked up the small card. " 'Sullivan's Bar'," he read aloud, and flipped it over. "It's got directions to the Prices' house."

Lindsay leaned over Danny's shoulder to get a look. "Were there any fingerprints?"

Mac shook his head forlornly. "Can't get a hit off of just smudges."

"Michael Price claimed he's never stepped foot inside a bar," Hawkes reminded.

"I think," Danny waved the plastic covered card at Hawkes, "that makes him a liar."

"The writing on the back matches Michael Price's penmanship," Mac informed them. "I had it cross referenced to the paperwork Mr. Price filled out when he was here for the interrogation."

"Breadcrumbs are getting bigger and clearer," Danny muttered.

"Stella," Mac directed his attention to his partner. "Did you and Hawkes find anything at the Ford's place?"

"Oh, did we . . ." Hawkes rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

He glanced at Stella. "Do you want to go first or should I?"

Danny and Flack exchanged looks of amusement.

Stella shook her head, curls waving back and forth. "How about you do the honors?"

"Okay," he consented. "I found a burnt trash can."

Four voices spoke up simultaneously in doubt. "_A burnt trash can_?" Mac, Danny, Lindsay and Flack repeated.

Hawkes blinked and glanced at Stella. "Are you getting a sense of déjà vu, too?"

Stella smiled.

"A burnt trash can," the former M.E. verified. "With the impression of what looks like a sharp, pointed object on the bottom. I'm willing to bet my medical license that it matches the burnt knife Danny and Lindsay found."

"And I found a dress shirt belonging to Joshua Ford that had chloroform stains on it," Stella continued. "No doubt about it – he made contact with Jake Price."

Mac nodded. "All right–"

He was cut off when Adam suddenly rushed into the room a second time. "Mac!"

All heads turned to look in surprise.

"L-line…one," the lab technician wheezed out, gasping for air. "Bryan Price. H-he's on line one. He's asking for Lindsay."

Lindsay froze.

The murder suspect had just made a direct call to the crime lab in hopes of contacting her.

Danny growled. "Put him on, Mac. Let's hear what the kid's got to say."

_**(A/N): I know, I know. It's Been AGES. I won't give you any excuses. Just enjoy the chapter! Sorry for any grammar or spelling errors.**_


	6. Chapter 6

**Getting Too Close**

**Chapter 6**

_**(A/N): Um. Re-reading might come in handy. Heh.**_

Mac picked up his phone cautiously and handed it to Lindsay.

Lindsay stared at it, hands practically shaking as she took the phone from her boss.

She looked up at him, unsure. "What do you want me to say?"

Mac shook his head. "Whatever you need to say to get him to stay on the line."

He turned to Stella and Flack. "We need to trace this. Figure out where he's calling from."

Stella nodded. "We're on it," she guaranteed, and pulled out Mac's desk chair to begin her task.

Flack left the room and returned a few seconds later with a couple of over-the-ear headphones.

Lindsay watched them set up the phone trace, Mac's phone still clasped tightly in her hands.

"What does this kid want with Lindsay anyway?" Danny snarled, picking up one of the headphones.

Mac breathed deeply, placing a set of headphones on as well. "Only one way to find out."

He studied his CSI for a moment. "Lindsay."

Mac's tone brought her out of her reverie.

His gaze was stern but encouraging. "Whenever you're ready. Line One."

Lindsay nodded and gulped. '_It's now or never_,' she thought bleakly.

With her final resolve, she pressed the flashing button on Mac's phone. "This is Detective Monroe."

Silence on the other end.

But Lindsay heard the light breathing. "Bryan?"

"…I didn't mean to do it."

Lindsay's breath hitched. "Didn't mean to do what?"

Bryan's voice was deep and hesitant. "All of it."

Confusion filled Lindsay's thoughts. She looked up and caught Danny's eyes. It was clear they were both thinking the same thing.

'_Was he trying to confess?_'

"Bryan," she began, not certain what to say. "Bryan, what are you trying to say? What did you do?"

"It was all my dad's fault!" he roared., ignoring her questions "It was all his fault!"

"_What_ is his fault?" Lindsay demanded harshly. "What did _he_ do?"

"You have to understand," Bryan pleaded. "You're the only person I can talk to. I know you'll understand."

Desperation laced through his voice.

Lindsay licked her lips nervously. "What do I understand, Bryan? You're not making any sense. You need to tell me what you want to say _clearly_."

There was a pause.

"They're all listening in, aren't they?" His question caught her off guard. "They're tracing this call right now…they probably already know which part of New York I'm in…"

Lindsay frowned. '_This kid really is too smart for his own good._'

"Bryan," she tried reasoning with him, but her heart was pounding a mile a minute. "Never mind that, okay? It doesn't matter. You're talking to _me_, not them. Tell me what's going on. Tell me what I need to understand."

A scuffle. And then a click. And the only sound that could be heard was the tedious dial tone.

Lindsay stared at the phone, still in shock. "He hung up."

Stella shook her head, eyes skimming the monitor of Mac's computer. "It doesn't matter. He was calling from a phone booth, so I couldn't get a hit off a number."

Hawkes, who was leaning over Stella's shoulder, pointed to the screen. "We've got a lead on a location, though," he announced. "He was calling us from somewhere in the Bronx."

"Yeah," Danny growled. "And any good that'll do us. Price probably ran off already, so there's no point."

"Couldn't we…try?" Lindsay suggested.

Mac sighed, pinching the bridge of nose in agitation of the whole circumstance. "There's no point, Lindsay. Danny's right."

Flack nodded in agreement. "I can get all my boys to check every phone booth in the Bronx and it still won't be enough."

Lindsay felt like crying. "But we were so close, Mac," she walked up to him. "He was going to confess."

"We don't know that," he argued.

"It sounded more like he was pining the blame on his dad," Hawkes contributed.

Lindsay threw her head back in frustration. All the strain of standing and pacing back and forth was really getting to her. And it certainly wasn't helping heal the four stitches on her side any better.

Danny noticed this. "You need to go back and rest, Montana."

Lindsay shook her head. "I said I'm fine."

"You look like you're going to pop a stitch," he scoffed.

"Don't jinx me," she growled.

A sudden rush of pain enveloped her, particularly from her right ribcage, and she had to pause, placing a hand over her wound.

The entire team quickly stepped toward her, hands outstretched guardedly, as if they were getting ready for her to fall.

Danny rested a hand on her back, rubbing it gently, concerned. "Lindsay, you need to take it easy."

Hawkes nodded, agreeing. "You need to give yourself time to heal. You shouldn't even be out of bed."

"It's a decided, then," Stella crossed her arms. "You're going home."

Lindsay stared, bewildered at Stella.

"You can't possibly expect me to be resting at a time like this!" she was outraged. "Bryan Price just contacted us, asking for _me_ specifically."

She looked pleadingly at Mac. "You _need_ me here."

Mac's eyebrows were furrowed. "I'm afraid they're right, Lindsay. You're no good to us if you're still recovering."

"But-"

"No 'buts'," Mac cut her off.

His mind was made up. "Either go home and rest or I'm taking you off this case completely."

There was no arguing with him.

She glanced earnestly at Stella, silently asking her colleague to help sway their boss' decision.

Stella just shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, Lindsay."

Danny wrapped his hand around Lindsay's arm, tugging lightly. "C'mon, I'll take you home."

Giving one last look at her team, she grudgingly complied.

"You can just hail me cab, Danny," Lindsay said, once they were outside.

He arched an eyebrow at her. "What? Don't want me to see your apartment?"

That got a smile out of her. "You're needed here," she reasoned. "I can get home on my own, don't worry."

He nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Alright. Call me as soon as you get home."

"Promise," she consented.

Danny helped her get into a yellow cab already parked and waiting for passengers.

"Make sure she gets home safe and sound," he instructed the cabbie.

The cabbie nodded, and Lindsay could only roll her eyes.

Danny ran his hand through the tips of her brown-blonde hair. "Remember to call me," he said.

"I will," she assured.

He closed the car door for her and watched as the cab pulled away. And for some odd reason, he felt he should have been the one to take her home.

_**CSI:NY CSI:NY CSI:NY**_

Lindsay gave a frustrated sigh as she stood outside her apartment building and rummaged through her purse for her keys.

"Where are you?" she murmured to herself.

The temptation to empty out all the contents from her bag was taking over when her fingers suddenly came into contact with the sharp, metal edges of what she was certain was a key.

"Finally," Lindsay breathed.

She entered the redbrick building, taking out her cell phone.

A promise was a promise, after all.

Three rings before he answered.

"Messer."

"Hi, Danny."

"You're home, then?"

Lindsay couldn't help but smile. "Yes, I'm home."

She reached the door of her apartment and slid her key into the key hole.

"Good," Danny sounded relieved. "Then get some rest, alright Montana?"

She opened her door, ready to tease him about sounding like a mother, when the cold metal rim of a .45 caliber touched the side of her temple.

Lindsay froze, one hand still on the doorknob and the other cradling her phone.

"Lindsay?" Danny called.

She didn't answer.

She couldn't.

"Did you know you're listed in the phone book, Detective?"

Her heart skipped a beat.

Bryan Price's face came into view. Blue eyes scorching, he stepped in front her cautiously, the gun in his hand still pointed to her head.

"Walk inside and hang up," he instructed quietly.

"Lindsay? You still there?" Danny's voice on the other line was edging on concern.

Lindsay didn't move a muscle. Her mind had become a blank slate. And her body couldn't even twitch. She stood in her doorframe, between her apartment and the hallway of her apartment building.

A soft click resounded.

He'd turned the safety off and taken step closer to her, staring her straight on.

Frightened deep brown eyes met with wild blue ones, and Lindsay knew that if she didn't start doing what he said, she was a goner.

_**(A/N): Guess who's baaack?**_


	7. Chapter 7

**Getting Too Close**

**Chapter 7**

_**(A/N): Took a while, but here it is! Enjoy. And I'm sorry for any errors or mistakes - I wrote this rather quickly.**_

"Issue out a warrant for Bryan Price's arrest," Mac instructed Flack. "We have more than enough evidence to convict him now."

Flack nodded. "I'll have my guys on the lookout for him."

_**CSI:NY CSI:NY CSI:NY**_

Danny let out a string of four letter curse words. He'd heard her over the phone. He'd heard them both. Every word before she hung up. And Danny hoped to all seven layers of hell that _she_ had been the one to hang up.

How could they have been so stupid? How could _he_ have been so stupid?

"Should have been the one to drop her off," he growled to himself.

Danny ran through the halls of the lab, zigzagging his way through a bunch of investigators and technicians.

"Mac! Mac!"

His boss looked up, agitated and curious as to why one his top CSIs was running amuck through the corridors of the lab.

Stella, who was with him, cocked an eyebrow at Danny's behavior before turning to her partner.

"Remember," she said, slight smile in her eyes. "_You_ handpicked him."

Mac simply sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What is it Danny?"

"We need to get to Lindsay's apartment, fast," he said, finally halting to a stop with panic written across his face. "And we better bring back up, too."

Mac and Stella froze, looking at Danny in disbelief.

"What are you talking about, Danny?" Stella asked, a horrible sinking feeling settling in the pit of her stomach.

"I think we might have hostage situation."

_**CSI:NY CSI:NY CSI:NY**_

Lindsay hung up, no questions asked, and set down her cell.

"Move over there," Bryan directed his gun toward her couch.

Hands still raised , Lindsay quickly made her way over to her sofa and sat down.

Willing every horrible thought of 'what ifs' to go away, she decided to speak up.

"Bryan…" she began, proud that her voice didn't even crack. "What are you doing here? _Why_ are you here?"

Gun still pointed at her, Bryan shuffled about her living room anxiously - almost manically. "I need you to understand."

She licked her lips fretfully. "Understand what?"

Emotional blue eyes looked everywhere but her face. Lindsay could sense the fear that was emanated from him, but at the same time, she saw the core fortitude to get his point across.

"Talk to me, Bryan," she coaxed. "You said so yourself that I would understand."

It was a situation Lindsay thought would never happen. Sure, she knew guns came with the territory of being a CSI, but she never expected to be at the receiving end, let alone a hostage situation.

His arms were shaking uncontrollably, and Lindsay knew without a doubt that this predicament was not premeditated. Bryan had come here on a whim, and he was smart enough to know that in order to get her attention but still keep her quiet, he needed to do something drastic.

Of course, drastic to Lindsay was going straight to her - _gun free _- and confessing. Drastic to him was pointing an automatic weapon to her head and threatening her life.

"Bryan," Lindsay tried again. "Why don't you put the gun down and we can talk about this rationally."

"Rationally?" he mocked, taking a threatening step toward her. "You want to talk about rational? Just how _rational_ is it when you pin the blame on me, thinking I killed my own little brother?"

She couldn't calm down her fast beating heart, no matter how hard she tried. And Bryan's exclamation did little to help her.

"Bryan, please," she begged, her eyes still trained on the gun just a foot away from her head. "You can get your point across without making any regrets."

He shook his head wildly. "Too late."

Lindsay gulped. "What do you mean 'too late'? What have you done?"

"You know what I've done," Bryan seethed.

_**CSI:NY CSI:NY CSI:NY**_

Danny had his sirens blaring, but still couldn't push past 40 miles per hour because of New York traffic. He glanced in his rearview mirror, and saw about half a dozen cop cars shadowing him. He, himself, was following Mac and Stella in their SUV.

But it just wasn't fast enough.

"Damn New York traffic," he cursed, swerving out of the way when a red convertible refused to pull over to the right side and wait.

"Danny," his transmitter crackled.

He picked it up in surprise and switched the volume on higher. "Yeah, Flack?"

"You didn't learn to drive in Jersey, Messer," Flack reproached, who was in the SUV behind him. "Calm down. We'll get there in time."

Danny let out a heavy sigh.

_**CSI:NY CSI:NY CSI:NY**_

"You need to talk to me Bryan."

Lindsay was getting desperate.

"You want to talk?" his mood went from dangerous to frantic. "Fine. Let's talk."

Lindsay could feel herself getting smaller when he looked her in the eye. His blue orbs were wild.

"Let's talk about how screwed up my parents were," Bryan sneered. "And how they were willing to sacrifice their own _son_ to get what they wanted."

A frown quickly formed in Lindsay's lips. "Your parents?"

"You searched our house, didn't you? You must have found the insurance documents."

Shock enveloped Lindsay when a light bulb went off in her head. A deluge of evidence filled her. Insurance documents. Jake Price's blood on the bartender. The business card with the directions.

"So then, her really was…" Lindsay's mouth went dry. "Jake Price w-was…"

"Murdered by my parents," Bryan finished for her.

A twisted, sick feeling settled in her, and Lindsay couldn't stop the tears from forming.

"Oh, god," she let out in a hoarse whisper.

By now, Bryan's arms were lowered to his sides, the gun practically ignored.

"They hired Joshua Ford to kill my little brother," he continued, his face stoic and emotionless as he stared at the coffee table. "He was worth 1.5 million dollars."

Lindsay knew this. She knew all of this. The connections were made clear in Mac's office when the team pulled together all their evidence. But actually hearing it from him made it reality. The only thing missing was the motivation.

"…Why?"

Bryan looked up. "Why?" he repeated, no longer impassive but angry as he brought up his right hand to pint his gun once again at Lindsay. "Because they owed money. My dad wasn't just a liar. He was a gambler. And he was in serious debt. So, what did he decide to do? He decided his ass was worth more than his five year old son's."

Lindsay gulped. "That's why you killed him. When you found out what happened, you killed Joshua Ford out of revenge."

"A life for a life," Bryan's nostrils flared. "It wasn't revenge. It was _justice_."

_**CSI:NY CSI:NY CSI:NY**_

Squad cars completely surrounded Lindsay's apartment building.

Danny barely batted an eye as he jumped from his SUV and ran up to the structure, gun already free from his holster.

"Danny!" Mac called, running after him.

He swiveled around, hearing his boss' aggravated voice.

"Never," Mac chewed out. "_Never _go in without back up."

Flack pulled up to Lindsay's apartment building and quickly made his way to Mac. "We've got the whole street covered, along with all the exits," he said, adjusted his bullet proof vest. "I've got a helicopter circling, too, just in case."

Mac nodded in understanding. "Alright. We can't announce that we're here because Price did not declare this to be a hostage situation. He didn't give us any demands or even make himself known to us that he's here, so we need to go in quietly."

He took out his gun. "Lindsay lives on the fourth floor. I'll take the front entrance. Danny and Flack, you circle to the back. Stella, you're with me."

Splitting up, the two teams went there separate ways.

_**CSI:NY CSI:NY CSI:NY**_

Danny and Flack crept around the building to find the fire escape. Pulling down the ladder, Flack signaled the two men in blue that were trailing them to follow in his lead.

Danny made his way up silently, but inside, it was a battlefield. His heart was pounding erratically, and sweat had already begun to form on ridge of his brow.

"I think the blinds to her window are slightly open," Flack muttered, arching over the railing of the third floor to look up into her apartment.

"I see two figures, Messer," Flack continued, crawling up the last few steps.

He held his arm out, gently pushing Danny back down.

"What is it?" Danny asked anxiously.

"If we go up any higher, Price will be able to see us," he explained. "The window's a little open, too."

"So if he doesn't see us, he'll hear us," Danny concluded, frustrated.

"Mac," Flack turned his the channel of his radio to their boss' number.

"What's your position?" Mac's baritone voice sputtered over the intercom.

"We're on the floor below Lindsay's," Flack whispered into his head set, leaning over the railing once again. "I can make them both out. Lindsay's on the couch, her back to us and the window. Price is standing, pacing back and forth…_damn_."

" 'Damn'?" Danny repeated, confused, deciding to look up over the railing too. " 'Damn' what?"

"I can confirm there's a gun, Mac," Flack said, a bit apprehensive. "It's pointed straight at her."

A pause. "Alright," came Mac's voice. "Get up to her floor, surround her window. Make sure you're not seen."

They did just that, with the two officers following them left to wait on the third floor for lack of space.

Danny could see the back of Lindsay's head through the small cracks of the blind, the dark caramel color of her hair moving from side to side as she followed Price's moving figure. She was just a few feet away from him, and he couldn't do anything to tell her he was there, right behind her.

"When are you going in, Mac?" Danny asked in a low voice fretfully, turning on his own head set.

"Right about…now."

"NYPD!" Mac blared, loud knocking followed "Open up!"

Lindsay bounded form her seat immediately.

And a series of gunshots soon resulted.

"Shots fired!" Flack yelled into his intercom and to the officers on the floor below them. "Shots fired! Move in!"

_**(A/N): Yes! And update! Someone pop open the champagne! **_


	8. Chapter 8

**Getting Too Close**

**Chapter 8**

_**(A/N): It's a miracle!**_

* * *

Everything that happened afterward was a blur to Lindsay.

Bryan, in a moment of panic, fired three rounds into the her door and immediately made an attempt to flee through her fire escape afterward. Mac and Stella came barraging through the bullet-ridden entrance, guns poised in the air and shouting at Bryan to stop where he was.

Figures came out of no where through her fire escape.

Lindsay didn't even have time to react before she felt her body being shoved down into her carpet as someone threw themselves over her frame, shielding her. She immediately recognized Danny's watch on his arm - the very arm that was wrapped around her.

Shouts and gunshots were in a chaotic mess, surrounding her. She heard Stella let out a frustrated scream, and all she could do was watch in terror as her colleague and friend fell to the ground, clutching her abdomen and gasping in pain and shock.

But there was no blood.

"Stella!" Mac shouted.

'_Bullet proof vest_,' Lindsay chanted to herself, closing her eyes shut tightly. '_She's wearing a bullet proof vest. They all are_.'

Bryan had managed to evade both Mac and Flack and clumsily ran into her bedroom, locking the door behind him in the process.

Mac shook the doorknob violently and slammed the palm of his hand against it aggravation.

"Flack, circle around and make sure he's not trying to escape through the window," he said in a rush.

Flack nodded, and waved at the two officers in the room. "You two are with me," he instructed.

Although her head was swimming with echoes of gunshots just a minute ago, she was still able to focus on the task at hand.

"N-No!" Lindsay's cry from her crouched position put a pause to Flack's steps. "The window's jammed shut. The clasp. I-It won't work. It won't open. He's not going anywhere."

"You're sure?"

She nodded. "It's been broken for weeks."

Stella sat against the door frame of Lindsay's apartment, straddling the threshold and attempting to carefully open her vest.

"You okay?" a voice whispered into her ear.

Lindsay nearly jumped out of her skin in surprise. In the midst of everything, she'd forgotten Danny had his arms wrapped around her protectively.

"Stella…" Lindsay uttered her name in an almost pleading manner and repeated Danny's question to her. "Are you okay?"

Stella shook her head and took a deep breath. "I'm fine, Lindsay," she answered with a shaky smile. "It just hurts like hell."

Mac pounded on the door again. "Bryan, unlock the door and come out with your hands in the air!"

"Mac," Flack held up his radio. "Neighbors phoned in on the gunshots. SWAT teams are going to flood this place pretty soon."

Their boss was practically seething.

He clobbered the bedroom door again. "Bryan, unlock the door! You don't want to get more people involved in this!"

"Lindsay." Stella was holding on to the doorframe, leaning over slightly as she was still grasping the lower part of her abdomen. "Do you have the key to your bedroom door?"

She nodded. "It's in my purse."

Danny finally released his hold on her and stood up. "This one?" he asked, pointing the bag she'd tossed on her sofa's side table.

He opened it and drew out a set of her apartment keys.

Lindsay stood up slowly on wobbly knees and grabbed her keys from Danny.

"Here," she said, singling out a key enclosed with a red band and handing it over to Mac.

"Wait, Mac." Flack grabbed their boss' shoulder. "We go in there, he's going to start shooting at us again.

Mac had a hard look of deliberation on his face. "We don't have much of a choice. SWAT units will be here in two minutes flat."

"I radioed in for armory shields and SWAT's obviously coming with them," Flack said. "The best we can do is wait, Mac."

"This is going to lead to a negotiation between us and Bryan," Mac rumbled. "And the head of the SWAT team won't want us interfering."

"I'm kind of getting the feeling that Mac's not a big fan of SWAT," Danny muttered to Stella, who was still crouched in the entrance way.

She scoffed. "SWAT he's fine with…the head honcho in charge of SWAT, he's not."

Lindsay tried pay attention to what was happening, but she couldn't even feel her heart - it was beating too fast. Her ears were ringing and her eyes saw swirls of her colleagues and apartment furniture. Not to mention, she had probably popped a few stitches from the knife wound in her side.

'_Concentrate, Lindsay_,' she berated herself, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. '_You've been in situations just as bad as this…_'

"Let me talk to him."

Every head turned to Lindsay.

"Hell no."

Danny's immediate response spoke volumes.

Mac sighed. "Lindsay, that might not be such a good idea."

"Why wouldn't it be? After all, he asked for me specifically on the phone. And he came to my apartment looking for me."

"Yeah, looking to hurt you," Danny retorted. "Did you forget you had a gun pointed to your head just fifteen minutes ago?"

"Mac…" she ignored Danny and was practically pleading her boss. "He'll only talk to me. He only feels comfortable around me. You have to let me try, at least. You know you do."

"She has a point, Mac," Stella said.

A look of resignation passed across Mac's fallen face. "Alright," he agreed. "You'll need a vest…"

"Here," Stella slowly took hers off, still in slight pain from the impact of the bullet that hit her.

Flack's radio sputtered just then, and the voice of a muffled man broke through the apartment.

"SWAT is here," he informed them. "They're sending up a negotiator right now."

"No, not yet." Mac grabbed the radio from Flack's hand. "This is Detective Mac Taylor with the New York city crime lab, with whom am I speaking to?"

"Mac Taylor?" the voice on the other end sneered. "Why am I not surprised? Should have known it was your team up there."

"Look," Mac attempted to reason through gritted teeth. "You need to spare us a few minutes with this kid before you come barging in."

"What? No. I've got my units here with me and we are going up there and handling this professionally."

"This is my case." Mac was getting irritated fast. "This kid is scared, desperate, and one step away from believing his actions are vigilant. He will not talk to a negotiator. Trust me. I've got a CSI who'll be able to reach out to him better than you can. She's already done it once before. All I'm asking is that you give us a bit of time. If within fifteen minutes we can't get through, the situation is yours."

There was a long pause on the other end as the entire CSI team held their breaths in anticipation. And though it was probably less than thirty seconds, it felt like an eternity.

"Fifteen minutes," the voice on the other end yielded. "But I am watching the clock with a critical eye, Taylor."

Mac switched the radio off and tossed it back to Flack.

He nodded at Lindsay. "It's all on you now."

'_Gee, no pressure there_,' Lindsay thought scathingly.

"Lindsay, you don't need to do this," Danny said, voicing his clear objection.

She shook her head. "You know I do."

The team watched her wit heavy hearts as she made her way to her bedroom door.

"Bryan?" she knocked gently. "Bryan, this is Detective Lindsay Monroe."

Silence.

She knocked again. "Bryan, I'm coming in, okay? And I don't have anything with me. I promise, it'll be just you and me."

Again, no response.

Danny was at her side suddenly, gun poised and readily aimed at the door. He nodded to her, giving her the sign to enter. And should anything happen, he had her back.

Lindsay was growing anxious.

Fidgeting with her keys, she gauchely jammed the right one into the doorknob, unlocking her bedroom door.

Not a single thing was out of place in her room, except for the scared little boy crouched down by the corner of her dresser.

Lindsay's throat suddenly became dry. "Bryan," she croaked.

He didn't look up.

Danny was right behind her, gun still in his hand, trying to peak in.

Quickly shoving Danny back ("H-Hey!" he protested), Lindsay stepped in, closing the door behind her.

"I'm walking towards you…"

Still no answer.

Bryan sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, his silver gun dangling from his right hand.

Lindsay made her way over to him slowly, not taking her eyes off his stooped form. She gradually perched herself on the edge of her bed, facing him. If Bryan did notice her, he made no sign of it.

Hands suddenly clammy, Lindsay swiftly rubbed them against her slacks. She couldn't control her fast beating heart even if she tried.

Bryan had his head bent down, showing no indication that he was going to make any sudden movements.

"Bryan," she tried again. Her voice didn't shake, but there was an obvious strain in the nature.

She'd said his name so many times, it's lost all meaning.

He finally looked up, and Lindsay was unexpectedly drawn in. His eyes were the saddest she'd ever seen. Electric blue, tears rimming the edge, wild, and unbelievably vulnerable.

And nonetheless, though her heart ached when she saw the state he was in, Lindsay couldn't help but wonder, why did she come in here without a gun?

* * *

_**(A/N): It's almost over! Just maybe two more chapters ****J****. Let me know what you think. And, again, I apologize for any grammar/spelling errors.**_


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